Mindshift 11/18

The guards at the edge of the market were watching intently. As the fight wore on, he felt himself wearing down. He needed to end this quickly. With a quick glance, he eyed the wall on the other side of the market, ducking and doing a sweeping kick with his leg. He darted to the wall, checking quickly to make sure Altair was behind him. He ran several feet up the wall, Altair following, and he pushed off, leaning back and grabbing Altair’s shoulders.

Altair went with the motion, shocked at the way Desmond bent, and Desmond slammed Altair’s head into the ground, stunning him long enough for him to pin the man and release the hidden blade against his neck.

“Game over, Altair,” he huffed.

The master assassin struggled, and when he realized he had been defeated, he relaxed.

He reached into the belt and grabbed the gun. He pressed it to Altair’s shoulder. Without a second thought, he pulled the trigger and watched the explosion of blood on the other side of the wound. Altair grunted and went limp. Holstering the gun as sneaky as he could, he got up and picked up Altair’s body.

“He’s dead!”

A roar went up from the people as Desmond struggled to get the body through the crowd. He limped over to his Granddad, the injuries and bruises making themselves known.

“Get out of the way! I need to take him to the doctor’s office!”

The crowd parted just enough to let him limp through.

“Give us his body—”

“Let him enjoy the spoils for a minute! Come, Desmond. To the doctor.”

They followed him to their house, where he set Altair down gently. “Get Malik and some supplies for surgery, we have to remove the slug.”

“Slug?”

“Get Malik and the doctor!” he snarled. “Altair, you’re safe now.”

He felt Altair stir, and watched his hand clasp the bullet injury. “What was that?”

“A gun. I’ll show you how it works later. Just know we’re getting the slug out.”

Altair looked at him with unfocused eyes. A few minutes later, Malik came rushing in with a doctor. Desmond pulled out a bullet from the clip.

“We need to get this out of this wound.”

He watched as the doctor removed the bullet and stitched him back together. It was only after Altair was tended to that he even let the doctor touch him.

“You won? Or just shot him with your… weapon?”

“I won, and then I shot him to fake his death.”

“And what of the ‘body?’”

“It was stolen. A death like his? Totally believable.”

Desmond took off his backpack. He dug around for the electronic he had. When he heard a small knock at the door, he jumped up and crumpled on his bad leg.

“I will get it, my grandson. Let the doctor tend to you.”

He watched eagerly as the doctor yelled at him to hold still. He bit his cheek till it bled as the doctor stitched up his leg. It took forever, but he was as silent as a mouse the entire time as the doctor poked and prodded, bandaged and wrapped. The most the doctor got was a wince. Granddad came pacing back in a while later, holding his electronic.

“Someone wanted to return this. Said you dropped it.”

He nodded. “Thanks. I was gonna go look for it.”

He took it and looked at the screen, watching the doctor through the screen. He frowned and lay back. It had been recording for a while. He fiddled with it until it stopped, and he found his way back. His memories of handling the iPhone were fuzzy, but eventually, he found the thing—vidrow, was the word that came to mind, or something akin to that—and watched it. He grinned when he saw it had caught the end. A bad angle, but the man with the glasses would have a good reaction. He felt certain of it.

He fiddled with it to turn it off and put it in his backpack, zipping it up again and gritting his teeth when the doctor prodded his broken rib. It took quite a bit before he was patched up. Altair did quite a number on him, but at least he could finally claim he beat the Grand Master.